The Bullet That Missed (Thursday Murder Club #3)(52)

‘I might …’ Andrew Everton hesitates. ‘I might need a favour too, Mike, only if you can.’

‘Name it,’ says Mike.

‘I don’t really know very much about television, but it’s just, I don’t suppose you know anyone at Netflix? I keep sending them my books, but they haven’t got back to me.’





42





‘Throw a bit more earth over me,’ says Viktor to Bogdan. ‘Just for warmth.’

Viktor, being a professional to his bones, has insisted on being buried naked. He knows that any self-respecting murderer would leave as few clues in the grave as possible. If they are to raise no suspicions with the Viking, then it is the right thing to do. He had waited until the last possible moment of course, nicely wrapped up as he watched Bogdan dig the grave. Viktor has seen many people dig many graves over the years, but few with the speed and efficiency of Bogdan. When this is all over, he wonders if Bogdan might like a job.

‘I could pour you a cup of tea,’ says Joyce, looking down on him over the lip of the grave, flask in hand. ‘But I’m not sure how you’d drink it down there.’

‘It is a kind offer, Joyce,’ says Viktor, as another clod of earth from Bogdan’s spade lands on his chest. ‘Perhaps later.’

‘Hold still,’ says Pauline, kneeling beside him with a brush, and a palette of red-and-black goop. She has been carefully painting a bullet hole on his forehead for five minutes or so.

‘Sorry to make you work on a naked man in a freezing hole,’ says Viktor.

Pauline shrugs. ‘I work in television, darling.’

‘You smell lovely though,’ says Viktor. ‘Eucalyptus.’

Pauline had originally painted on the bullet wound in the comfort of Joyce’s flat. The situation had been explained to her, by Ron, and she had taken it in her stride. She had asked if what they were doing was illegal, and Elizabeth had said ‘define illegal’, and that had been good enough for Pauline. She had also caked his face in powder, making him paler and paler, thinner and thinner, until they all agreed they were staring into the eyes of a ghost. They had then bundled Viktor back into his familiar holdall, and Bogdan had carried him out to a quad bike and driven him up to the woods. The others had followed, at a discreet distance, in the event that the Viking was somehow watching.

‘And we’re done,’ says Pauline, with a final flourish. She gives Viktor a last once-over, looking from every angle. ‘You look terrible.’

It was Joyce who had spotted the original mistake. Pauline had first painted an entry wound on Viktor’s forehead. The recording heard by the Viking would leave him in no doubt that Elizabeth had shot Viktor from behind. Which is why Pauline was now kneeling beside him in a grave, turning an entry wound into an exit wound. If Pauline had been surprised at how accurately both Viktor and Elizabeth could describe the exit wound of a bullet, it didn’t show in her face.

Ron and Bogdan help Pauline out of the hole. Mainly Bogdan, Viktor notices, but done in such a way as to make it look like Ron is doing most of the work. Viktor sees the faces peering down at him.

Bogdan is now throwing down more earth onto Viktor’s body. The idea is to give him a ‘just-dug-up’ look. Ibrahim has his phone out, and now trains it on Viktor at the bottom of the hole. ‘Landscape or portrait?’

‘Landscape,’ says Viktor. ‘Is grittier.’

‘Portrait,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’m taking the photo, and I prefer portrait.’

‘You are insufferable, Elizabeth,’ shouts Viktor from the bottom of the hole.

Ibrahim has another question. ‘Close-up of the face, or the whole body?’

‘Both,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But not too close to the face, just in case.’

‘Just in case what?’ says Pauline. ‘You zoom in all you like, Ibrahim, that’s good work.’

‘Yeah, zoom in,’ says Ron, and squeezes Pauline’s hand.

‘Of course we will need to talk about filters,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Personally I think Clarendon would be perfect, because of the earthy browns.’

‘If it is not too much bother,’ says Viktor. ‘Perhaps we discuss this after?’

Ibrahim nods. ‘Hypothermia, I understand completely. I also want to speak to you about Heather Garbutt’s poem, but that can also wait until you are clothed.’

Viktor looks up at the faces peering down. Elizabeth, his great love, how happy he is to spend a little more time with her. People drift in and out of your life, and, when you are younger, you know you will see them again. But now every old friend is a miracle.

Ron and Pauline. They are holding hands now. Viktor remembers Ron’s name from many years ago. He was on a list. It was a long list, but he was on it. Someone, at some point, would have spoken to him, ‘sounded him out’, seen if he was sympathetic with the Soviet way. Meeting him now, Viktor wouldn’t fancy their chances. Bogdan, leaning on his spade, waiting patiently to fill the hole back in. Ibrahim, trying to find the perfect angle. Joyce, his flat-mate, his new protector, currently trying to stop Alan jumping into the hole.

Looking up, Viktor realizes just how lonely his penthouse is. How lonely his life has become. Young, beautiful people taking photos in a pool that everyone could see, but no one could visit. Where were his friends?